


Feeling Burned

by WayWardWonderer



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Rathbone films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Ambush, Fire, Gen, Hurt, Rescue, Trapped, injured
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 20:35:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15323793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WayWardWonderer/pseuds/WayWardWonderer
Summary: Sherlock Holmes walks into a trap and is placed in mortal danger. It's up to Dr. John Watson to locate and rescue his friend before it's too late for either the detective, or to begin a new case revolving around a new enemy.





	Feeling Burned

It had been a full week since Sherlock Holmes had allowed himself to be abducted and tortured by the malicious Professor James Moriarty as a means of finally catching the deviant genius in the act of a great crime. During that week since his rescue by none other than Dr. John Watson's clever thinking Sherlock had spent his time walking about the rooms of Baker Street with his pipe between his teeth and his hands in the pockets of his robe as he paced about restlessly.

Heavy layers of white gauze and white bandages were wrapped around his chest to cover the stitches from the numerous cuts and lacerations that had been inflicted by Moriarty's wickedly sharp razor blade. The deep seeded bruises along his ribs and stomach were still sore but already showing signs of healing much to Watson's relief. His left shoulder had been partially dislocated and his upper arm was subsequently bandaged in place and held by a sling. Though still bruised Sherlock's eyes was no longer swollen shut and he could now see through two, although one was bloodshot and painful to look at, eyes of keen intellect.

A soft knocking at the closed door to the study made Sherlock pause mid stride. Turning on his heel he removed his pipe and held it in his hand as he eyed the warily. "Yes?"

Mrs. Hudson pushed open the door with a smile on her face and a silver tray in her hands. Sitting upon the tray was a small pot of tea with two clean cups upon saucers, and a letter addressed to Sherlock himself. "I thought you could use a nice cup of warm tea, my dear."

"Why thank you Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock watched as the kindhearted landlady sat the tray down on the round table in the center of the study. "You're too good to me."

"Oh, nonsense!" Pouring a cup for Sherlock to take she offered the saucer for him to take. "You're still weak and need your strength. Dr. Watson insisted that you keep to yourself inside and off the streets, and I know how difficult it can be for you to remain so still. Nothing makes me feel better faster than a nice cup of tea, so I know it'll do you good as well."

Sherlock graciously accepted the offered tea with his good hand, his pipe still resting between his fingers. "Any word on Watson?"

"Oh, nothing yet." Mrs. Hudson admitted as she fussed with Sherlock's robe, smoothing away the wrinkles and straightening the lapels. "But I'm sure he'll be back soon."

"Yes, I suppose you're correct." Sherlock tentatively sipped at the tea before turning gaze toward the window. "After all, Watson can only bear the company of his cousin for so long."

"His cousin? I thought Dr. Watson said he was meeting with a friend from the army?"

"He did. The friend from the army and his cousin are one in the same person."

"Oh? What makes you so certain?"

"It's fairly simple." Sherlock stated as he took another sip of the tea before continuing. "Watson had received numerous invitations to meet up with his former comrades during his return to London, but he had always declined due to personal reasons or professional. During this one exception Watson not only agreed readily to the reunion but adorned himself in his favorite suit without any military garb in attendance. If he were simply meeting with a former colleague he wouldn't dressed the occasion, but since he is wearing a more suitably relaxed attire it makes sense that the colleague in question is someone who wants to see him beyond their military connection. Watson told me that he and his cousin were briefly together during their time in Afghanistan and were separated after Watson had become wounded in combat."

"I suppose that makes sense." Mrs. Hudson admitted sweetly. Picking up a bundle of discarded newspapers in her arms the elderly lady excused herself from the study. "You finish that tea and I'll bring you something to eat after I return from the market. Also, there is a letter for you on the tray. No return address and I found it slid under the doorway this afternoon."

"I will finish the tea Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock insisted as he returned slowly to his large chair beside the small table and sat down slowly with a masked grimace. "Thank you." Reaching for the letter resting on the tray with his one good hand Sherlock fumbled to open the envelope with his fingertips as he peeled away at the closing flap. Though awkward and unorthodox Sherlock managed to open the envelope and pull the letter out in a clumsy manner. "There we are. No trouble at all."

Unfolding the letter and smoothing the paper out with the side of his hand Sherlock read the message printed in black ink with thoughtful intensity. His gray irises narrowed and brow furrowed with contemplation as the enigmatic note spoke volumes of looming danger:

' _If you wish to keep Moriarty behind bars go to the Western tower of Harborworth Manor this evening. I shall be waiting_.'

"Interesting..." Sherlock thought out loud as he read and re-read the message. The neatness of the handwriting, the perfect penmanship displayed with each letter, the generic display giving no sign or clue as to the hand that had written the message created an ominous air about it. Replacing his pipe between his teeth Sherlock leaned back in his chair and contemplated the eerie invitation.

Harborworth Manor had been abandoned over twenty years prior and had been left to rot on the edge of the city. The original owner had been a vile man who gained his vast fortune through shady agreements and underground criminal activity, it was only when his wife learned of his secret dark life and informed Scotland Yard was he brought to justice. Since the night of his arrest the manor had been left without care or a resident.

"Harborworth Manor." Sherlock repeated the name though his pipe in his teeth. Pulling his pocketwatch from its place in his robe he noted the time and estimated that he had two hours, possibly three, to arrive at the appointed place in time. "Very interesting indeed."

Rising from his seat Sherlock slowly trudged from the study to his room just a few feet away. Despite Watson's implicit instructions to remain in Baker Street until he had fully recovered from his injuries Sherlock couldn't resist the odd invitation and set about changing into his familiar gray suit before setting for the manor.

* * *

Dr. Watson returned to Baker Street with a smile on his face and a pep in his step. Reuniting with his cousin had proven itself a delightful afternoon regaling one another in tales from their childhood, their during and after the war and how the two men who spending their time after returning to the city.

"Hello Mrs. Hudson." Watson greeted as he stepped through the front door. "How is Holmes faring?"

"Bored as usual." Mrs. Hudson confessed with a faint smile. "He was pacing about like a lion in his cage until I brought him some tea. I imagine the letter he received has been holding his attention ever since I went to the market."

"Letter? What letter?"

"I can't say. It was anonymous and slipped under the door."

"How unusual." Watson noted as he made his way up the staircase to the second floor of the flat. "I wonder if it's a call for help from a client?"

Reaching the closed door of the study Watson didn't bother to knock and merely let himself inside. As he crossed the room he spotted the opened letter sitting on the table next to the used teacup and Sherlock's discarded pipe.

"Holmes?" Watson called out as he knocked on the closed door to Sherlock's private chamber. "Are you in there?"

No response.

"Holmes?" Watson called again as he turned the doorknob. The room was unlocked. Pushing open the door Watson saw that the room was seemingly empty and that Sherlock's red robe was laying on his bed. "Holmes? Are you in here?"

Worried by the lack of answer and unsettling quiet Watson pushed open the door to the washroom adjoined to the bedroom and found it too was empty.

"Mrs. Hudson?" Watson shouted for the landlady as he returned to the study and looked around for any clue as to Sherlock's current whereabouts. His eye was drawn to the letter and immediately began reading over it.

"Yes, doctor?" Mrs. Hudson appeared in the doorway with confusion on her face.

"Is Holmes downstairs?"

"No, I haven't seen him since I brought him his tea."

"Oh dear... How long were you at the market?"

"No more than an hour."

"Holmes could sneak in and out of this flat undetected in less than ten minutes." Watson shook his head as he memorized the location mentioned in the letter. Approaching the large fireplace against the far wall of the study Watson retrieved a wooden box and popped open the lid. Inside the box was the pistol that Watson carried during the war, and with it was a single bullet.

"Oh... Oh my goodness! I'm so sorry doctor, I never should've left him alone!"

"It's quite alright Mrs. Hudson. We both know that Holmes can be far too stubborn for his own good." Letting out a tired sigh Watson set out to locate Sherlock at the manor that he was certain that the detective had unwisely ventured off to, completely alone. "I just hope he has doesn't anything reckless!"

* * *

Sherlock had hailed a hanson during the brief moment when he was left alone at the flat and had arrived at the manor within the time frame as instructed. As he approached the dilapidated manor the hanson departed leaving the injured detective alone at the mysterious property. Unarmed and without any notion as to why he had been summoned to the manor, or as to who had invited him to begin with.

The manor itself was composed of dark red clay bricks that were smothered by overgrown vines that snaked up the walls and toward the dark brown roof. Large windows that lined the walls were covered in dirt, dust and were cracked due to age and neglect. The four corners of the manor displayed round towers that overlooked the property. The front door was a massive dark oak that was boarded shut, and yet even from the distance at the end of the front walk it was evident that the boards were loosened considerably by excessive force.

Approaching the manor tentatively Sherlock eyed every window, every piece of shrubbery that lined the property and paid close attention to every sound that broke through the silence that surrounded the manor.

Unarmed and still injured Sherlock couldn't afford to let his guard down for even a moment.

Stepping up onto the front porch of the manor Sherlock pushed on the front door gently and found that it was in fact unlocked. The door creaked open with a high-pitched squeak giving Sherlock access to the main foyer of the abandoned manor.

A faint layer of dust covered the floor courtesy of neglect. In the dust a trail of fresh footsteps from a man's shoe led from the foyer and up the nearby staircase heading toward the West wing of the manor. Groaning from the floorboards above indicated that there was in fact someone already inside the manor.

"Curious." Sherlock remarked as he silently began ascending the staircase. Moving slowly and keeping his footsteps as light as possible Sherlock managed to climb the stairs without causing any audible disturbances along the wooden stairs.

Exercising the utmost caution Sherlock moved as silently as possible while scanning the area for any movement or sign of foul play. As he passed by closed doors he checked the knob to see which doors were locked and which were unlocked. With every door that could be opened he'd push open the door slowly and peer inside the room before passing by.

Reaching the small spiraling stairwell that stretched up to the Western tower Sherlock proceeded along with his slow gait as he was unwilling to chance any ambush or misstep that could prove itself fatal.

A large door at the top of the stairwell was let wide open as if expecting a guest to join whomever it was waiting inside.

Standing inside the doorway of the room Sherlock looked into the room and discovered it to be an extravagant study and library. The round walls were adorned with custom fitted bookshelves that were filled entirely with books of varying sizes, volumes, colors, textures and ages. At the far side of the study was a worn out brown leather sofa, and sitting upon the sofa was a lone figure with his head bowed down.

The hat atop the figure's head completely concealed his identity as he sat idle on the sofa, his hands folded together on his lap.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holmes." The figure responded in a gruff voice as he stood up slowly from the sofa. He kept his head bowed to keep his identity concealed. "I was worried you wouldn't show."

"It'd be rude to refuse such an intriguing invitation." Sherlock retorted as he stepped into the study and stood before the unnamed man. "Now, let's get the matter at hand. To what extent could you possibly provide in ensuring Moriarty remains imprisoned? What resources could you possess to carry such power?"

"Resources?" The man nearly laughed as he lifted his head just enough to lock eyes with Sherlock without full revealing his face. "No, no, my dear detective. I carry no resources. Only knowledge."

"Very well. What knowledge could you possible possess that Scotland Yard or myself does not?"

"I know things about Moriarty that you could only fathom."

"And how is that?"

The man lifted his head and revealed himself to be the very suspect that Holmes and Watson had pursued a month prior along the pier. The suspect had attacked Watson with a knife and nearly killed him as the blade cut into Watson's radial artery causing him to lose a substantial amount of blood. The suspect who had fled away into the night and never located by Scotland Yard.

"Ah." Sherlock responded dryly as he restrained his anger at the sight of the man. "It seems as though even Moriarty has snakes in his lair. Why betray him?"

"Who said anything about betrayal?" The man smirked as he casually walked pass Sherlock, placing himself between the detective and the single exit of the tower. Pulling a tin from his breast pocket the man chose a cigarette before pulling a book of matched from his trouser pocket. Striking a single match on the box he ignited the cigarette placed between his teeth. Puffing twice an orange ember glowed at the end of the cigarette and he exhaled a cloud of smoke in Sherlock's face. "You see, when I pulled that knife on your doctor friend I earned a great reward from the Professor himself. I'm now second in command until Moriarty is released from prison and as you can imagine I'd prefer him to remain behind bars for the rest of his days."

"Yet you claim you are not here to betray him."

"No." The man held up the burning match for Sherlock to see before tossing it casually against the bookcase to his right. The small ember on the match quickly ignited the dry paper of the books on the bottom shelf in a burst of orange flames that crawled up the wall destroying everything it burnt. "The professor is serving time for your kidnapping and attempted murder, making you his biggest threat to his freedom. If you were to mysteriously wind up dead in the former hideout of one of his known associates then Scotland Yard will easily attribute your death as a contracted hit arranged by Moriarty's own hand."

"Clever. Very clever." Sherlock complimented as the room became engulfed in hot flames. Smoke began to collect at the ceiling and ooze outside through the imperfections and cracks of the brick walls and windows. "You murder me and frame my worst enemy for the crime, while you remain free and capitalize on a condemned man's fortune. Unequivocally clever. Even Moriarty himself would have to admit to the ingeniousness of your little plot. "

"I thought you'd appreciate the brilliance of my plan." The man laughed as the fire encroached on the two men from all around. The flames snaked around the bookshelves and began burning higher up to the ceiling. "I do wish I could remain to watch your demise but my presence would negate the purpose of this little endeavor."

"You believe you've won."

"Yes. I have."

"I will not stand by and remain in this burning room. I may be injured but I can still exit the manor just as easily as I entered."

"Oh yes, I'm aware." The man pulled a revolver from his pocket and aimed it in the center of Sherlock's chest. Backing from the room he gave the detective a smarmy grin as he stood in the doorway and lowered the revolver's hammer with his thumb. "Which is why I won't leave until I know you're adequately subdued."

Smoke and fired filled the room, threatening to obstruct the line of sight between the two conflicting men.

"But a bullet wound would put your entire scheme in jeopardy. When Scotland Yard matches the bullet to your gun you will be hanged for my murder right alongside Moriarty."

"Oh, the bullet isn't meant for you." The man sneered as he quickly pointed the barrel of the revolver up toward the ceiling and pulled the trigger.

The bullet echoed loudly as it was fired from the revolver and struck a rusted bolt that had been used to secure a large wooden support beam to the ceiling. Destroying the decayed metal with great ease the bullet lodged itself into the bricks above as the wooden support beam tilted down and tore loose the remaining bolt at its opposite end.

Sherlock looked up in time to see the wooden bream break free and coming crashing down right on top of him. The beam landed across Sherlock's chest and pinned him tot he burning floor under a massive weight.

"Poor Sherlock Holmes." The man taunted as he pocketed his revolver and stared at the downed detective trapped beneath the smothering wooden beam. "A fool misguided by loyalty and honor, and lead to his demise by a simple invitation."

Stepping out of the doorway the man casually strolled down the staircase and out of the burning manor without the slightest glimpse of fear or regret on his smug face.

Sherlock was rendered unconscious by the stunning blow of the falling beam. Laying on his back with the heavy weight pressing relentlessly across his chest he was completely oblivious to the fire encroaching upon his person at a steady clip. Small embers began to catch on the dry surface of the wood and fuel the flames that burned the study without any hindrance.

* * *

Watson rushed to the address mentioned in the letter on foot as quickly as he could move. Unwilling to trust a cabbie to take him to the appointed place in a timely manner the good doctor impatiently traversed the eight blocks on foot only to catch sight of thick, black smoke rising to the sky from where the abandoned manor stood.

Pausing for a moment to trace the source of the smoke with his eyes he caught sight of a figure standing outside the manor with his back to the road and his arms crossed defensively over his chest.

Moving with great stealth Watson pulled his pistol from his pocket and snuck up behind the figure. Using a single, swift motion Watson brought the butt of the gun down directly atop the man's head knocking him unconscious with one blow.

"So sorry," Watson apathetically apologized as he stepped over the man's limp body and pocketed his pistol. "but I can't run the risk of you being an obstreperous foe!"

Running to the front door of the manor, the door that had been left wide open upon the man's exit, Watson instinctively looked down at the floor for footprints and spotted two sets of footprints walking up the staircase but only one set walking back down.

"Holmes?" Watson shouted as he began marching up the staircase in search of his missing friend. Black smoke was billowing in thin clouds down the staircase as the study continued to burn in the West tower. Pulling the lapel of his coat over his nose and mouth Watson used the fabric to help filter the smoke from the air as he continued to search and call out for Sherlock. "Holmes! Answer me!"

Fighting to find his way through the smoke, following the darkening trail to the source of the fire in the tower, Watson coughed a few times as his lungs began to burn and his eyes began to water.

Locating the staircase where the smoke was originating Watson stooped down slightly and pressed his palm firmly against the cool wall at his side. Using his hand to guide his way Watson began ascending the staircase moving against the smoke despite every fiber of being telling him to run away from the fire and exit the burning manor before it was too late!

"Holmes?" Watson called out as he stepped through the doorway to the study. Eyeing the orange flames roaring and crackling as the study burned to ash his sight came to rest on a dark figure in the middle of the floor with a large burning beam atop it. "Holmes!?"

Running over to where Sherlock was laying Watson fell to his knees and put his hands beneath the weight of the burning beam and tried to lift up, away from his trapped friend's body.

Sherlock's head lolled slightly to the side as the lessened weight on his chest roused him from his state of unconsciousness. "...Watson?"

"Yes, I'm right here!" Watson nearly shouted over the flames as he struggled with the immense weight of the support beam. Unable to life the beam away from Sherlock's body entirely Watson braced the weight with all the strength in his shoulders he could muster. "I can't move the beam alone, you must help me!"

Sherlock's gray eyes opened slowly as he regained his senses. The sound of the roaring fire and the worry in Watson's voice was enough to bring him back to full consciousness.

"Watson!" Sherlock's free hand pressed against the side of the beam as he began to push the weight down in the same direction that Watson was trying to lift it.

"That's it!" Watson encouraged as he felt the beam sliding down and away from Sherlock's chest. "Just a little more..." With the beam now clear of Sherlock's body Watson hefted the weight up and to the side. The beam thundered down onto the floor with a deafening impact next to Sherlock's body. "Come now!" Watson slipped his hand under Sherlock's shoulders and forced him up into a sitting position. "We need to get out of here!"

Sherlock did his best to get to his feet as Watson wrapped his arm around Sherlock's waist to guide him back up. Draping Sherlock's good arm around his shoulders Watson all but dragged Sherlock out of the burning room and down the spiraling stairwell through the black smoke and back down the main staircase to the first floor of the manor.

Letting Sherlock lean against his side Watson escorted his friend through the front door of the manor and down the front steps. The duo only halted once they reached the end of the walkway leading up the steps and set foot on the sidewalk.

There was no sign of Moriarty's traitorous man save for a small stain of blood on the grass courtesy of the wound inflicted by Watson. He had regained consciousness and fled to avoid any witnesses as the manor burned to the ground.

"Holmes?" Watson addressed his friend as he helped Sherlock to sit down on the sidewalk. Pulling open Sherlock's coat Watson examined the small burn patches on his shirt and bandages. He was relieved to see that the flames hadn't reached Sherlock's skin, but small spots of fresh blood indicated that the falling beam had torn loose several stitches. "Holmes, talk to me. Are you alright?"

"I'm a fool." Sherlock hoarsely whispered with defeat in his voice. Gray irises stared unblinking at the burning manor in a transfixed gaze. "You risked your life to save mine after I was so blindly stupid!" Sherlock spat venom against his own name while Watson tended to his friend's condition. "I'm just a bloody fool..."

"Holmes... You're no fool." Watson tried to reaffirm sincerely with a firm hand to Sherlock's shoulder. "You're just too curious for own good sometimes. That's all."

"I walked right into what was an obvious trap, and did so while unarmed and without any back up." Sherlock winced as he took in a breath and began to cough lightly. "That isn't curiosity. That's foolishness. Despite my skill for observation, my deductive reasoning, I could not see the obvious laying before; nor could I find the means to remedy my mistake."

Watson gave Sherlock a slight smirk as he tightened his grip on Sherlock's shoulder. " _Education never ends_." He began to quote kindly to his doubtful friend. " _It is a series of lessons with the greatest for the last_."

Sherlock's eyed drifted from the fire to look at Watson as restrained tears of emotions began to well up.

"You're still alive which means your greatest lesson has yet to come! You're not a fool, you're simply still learning."

A seldom seen smile of appreciation appeared on Sherlock's face as he reciprocated the kind gesture with a quote from Watson during their first meeting. " _This fellow maybe clever, but he certainly is very conceited_. True words have never been spoken."

The two men shared a light chuckle of relief and mutual good humor as they sat side by side on the sidewalk and watch the manor as it burned to ash. The flames snaked along from the Western tower and through the walls in all directly. A single great flame erupted from the roof of the manor and created a massive black wall of opaque smoke.

Sherlock put a hand to his mouth to stifle deep cough that fought to clear the collected smoke from his lungs, while Watson wiped the smudges of soot and smoke from his face on the sleeve of his coat.

"That sounds like a wicked cough you've developed." Watson noted with a doctorly intrigue. Pushing himself up from the sidewalk he offered Sherlock his hand and pulled his weakened friend up to his feet. "Come. We best get you back to Baker Street before it becomes serious. I also imagine Inspector Lestrade will be stopping by sooner rather than later, and we shouldn't keep him waiting."

"Quite right." Sherlock stated as he allowed Watson to guide him along the numerous blocks leading back to their flat as he stifled another cough.

"I say, Holmes," Watson spoke up somewhat timidly as he aided his friend during their walk back to their flat. "there was a strange man standing outside the manor when I first arrived. I feel I must admit I struck him from behind before I entered the manor in search of you, but when we escaped he was no longer outside. Who was that man and where did he disappear to?"

"The man is as dangerous as he is clever." Sherlock replied as he coughed again. The coughs weren't harsh but were painful as they disturbed the stitches and bruises along his chest. "A lieutenant to Moriarty who is seeking to climb the ranks and take over the organization as its leader."

"A new threat?"

"A new foe." Sherlock elucidated with a cold tone. "One we mustn't take lightly from this day on."

"I agree. Anyone who'd go to such lengths to harm you speaks volumes of a true deviant. In time I suspect this shall be one of our greatest cases of your illustrious career."

"Watson, before we go about another case I must humbly request from you a favor."

"Oh? And what's that, Holmes?"

"If I ever begin to act impulsively, reckless or otherwise like an ass, just lean in and whisper into my ear 'Harborworth Manor'. It will bring me back to my senses and I shall forever in your debt."

"Of course. Consider it a promise, my friend."

**_-The End_ **


End file.
